Drafted winter, 2002. Completed 2021.

“ Stop! Stop! Stop!”, I yelled and then screamed as I watched my two children careen away down the ice covered snow. If they heard me they couldn’t stop. I knew their sleds would roar against the ice as they flew away. Their sleds were those molded plastic flat-bottomed sort you get at the True Value hardware store for $10 a piece. These were turquoise with yellow pull ropes at the front end.

Ten minutes earlier, we’d walked to the top of McCleary Road and had looked out over the hundred acre hill covered with 2 and a half feet of snow and 2 inches of ice on top of that.   In the summer, the hillside is planted in corn and sometimes beans. It is steep about 45° to 55° and goes down about a quarter of a mile to a stream bordered by thick woods full of sticker bushes and brambles. It is a long hill, a good hill for walking or sledding or skiing on most days but not today.

On this late afternoon with the last bit of sun shimmering off the ice, we’d come to sled in the setting sun. But now I could see this was a bad idea. The top two inches of ice had melted and with every other step into the field, we’d plunged down to our thighs or worse. I looked at  my twin eleven year old daughters, “ I think we should come back tomorrow.”

“No. No. We want to go,” they both protested.

Finally I said, “All right, but only sled over here where it isn’t so steep. Then you’ll be able to stop by jamming your heels through the ice into the snow.”

They said okay. Then they looked at each other in silent communion, turned and threw down their sleds, flopped their rear ends down on them, and with a push of their hands jettisoned down the entire quarter mile hill. I was furious. Then I was frightened.

I continued to yell for a few more seconds, amazed with disbelief at their joint defiance. They became smaller and smaller; the red and blue and pink and white patterned ski jackets became a blur. My heart pounded. How will they ever get back up the hill? You could take one or two steps on top of the crust then ‘boom’ you broke through up to your hip.  I knew from backpacking in the snow that this was quickly exhausting especially uphill.

Campbell was bigger and fitter and an athlete who loved to play outside. Anna Lou, however, was small for her age and not an outdoor girl. I realized I couldn’t go after them  crashing through the crust every other step; I needed snowshoes and polls.

We’d walked two blocks from our home, so I turned and walked down the snow packed road as quickly as I could trying to calm myself. I found my snowshoes and polls in the mud room, threw them in the back of our black Explorer and drove around the corner to the field. I could see them trudging and then falling up the hill pulling their sleds sometimes behind them and sometimes pushing them ahead and flopping down on their stomachs to rest a bit.

Ann Lou was 50 yards from the top; Campbell was about 25 yards ahead of her pulling her legs free every other step, but looking strong as she moved steadily closer to me. Anna Lou looked exhausted. She was crawling on all fours her long blonde hair streaming out from her fleece hat covering most of her face. She had the rope of the sled in one hand and this was getting tangled up in her legs as she crawled. As she got a bit closer I could hear her crying and then yelling with frustration. She alternated her crying and yelling with some whines and whimpers.

My anger was beginning to melt as I moved across the snow in my snowshoes and polls sinking in a few inches but able to move fairly quickly. I reached Campbell first. She said she was okay. I went on  to Anna Lou who upon seeing me put her head down on the snow and began crying long hard sobs. I told her to get up on the sled which she lay on gratefully, and I picked up the yellow rope and began pulling.

Campbell and Anna Lou said very little as we put their sleds in the back of the truck, and they climbed in tired, wet and cold. We drove home in silence. When we walked into the mud room a few minutes later they each said, “I’m sorry, Mom.” I said I hoped they’d  learned something about snow and ice and hills and listening to mothers. They nodded solemnly.

We went back to that hill a few days later when the temperature was 10° and the ice crust was so hard we could walk on top and never crashed through.  We rode our sleds down the entire length a few times until finally settling on an icy stretch two thirds of the way down that was the fastest. This meant more rides and less trudging. We laughed and sleighed until it was almost dark.

Later after hot showers, we sipped hot chocolate with mini marshmallows at the dining room table recounting our wild rides in the cold. We’d made what had been a hair-raising experience a few days earlier into a joyful family adventure.

Years later, we’ve told his family story many times. A story of children being children, a story of calamity and adventure. A part of our family history that makes each of us feel together even when we’re apart.